1852
by roseflower19
Summary: At Mardi Gras in 1852, Cécile Rey meets a very special friend who shares her love of music.


**1852**

Mardi Gras. Even the word conjured excitement, with masked balls and lots of spicy food. The February air whisked Cécile along the waterfront, past the rows of steamboats and the stevedores singing low and tunefully—"Way over the water, when I go, remember me"—as they worked unloading the boats, shipments of cotton waiting at the docks. Lots of _Américains _had come on the boats for Mardi Gras, and they were milling on the decks or wandering along the wharf, adding to the already busy crowd. One of the _Américains _stood leaning against the railing of one of the steamboats, the _James Millinger_, a cigar in hand and his sad, dark eyes lost in thought.

"Who's that?" Cécile asked Ellen, her family's Irish maid, as they passed by.

"It's rude to stare, Miss Cécile," Ellen told her quietly. "We'd better get going, or the best baguettes and pralines at the market will be gone before we get there."  
Cécile turned her head one last time as they left, the _Américain_'s sad eyes meeting hers before a lady with light brown hair in a pretty pink dress, probably his wife, came to the doorway of the boat and called him inside.

Cécile hurried to catch up with Ellen. She shouldn't stare, of course, but there was something about that couple—they didn't seem happy.

The bustle of the market and the sweet scent of pralines whisked such thoughts from her mind, and soon she and Ellen were busy haggling for the best prices on baguettes and ingredients for Maman's famous gumbo. "_Des pralinés, s'il vous plaȋt,_" Cécile asked the vendor before they left, and he smiled as he handed her a bag of the steaming, sugared sweets. She munched on them as they started back towards home, she and Ellen laden with bags.

Shouting in an alleyway stopped them. "_Vous_! You!" a man called to a boy with skin a little darker than Cécile's. "_Arrêtez_! Stop!"

"_J'ai des papiers_," the boy said, fumbling in his pockets for his papers.

"Let's go," Ellen whispered to Cécile. "There's nothing we can do for him."

But Cécile's fists clenched. That Fugitive Slave Act was making things even harder for freed slaves. It wasn't fair.

"_Il y a un problème_? Is there a problem?" The _Américain _from earlier, the one with the sad eyes, stopped the man in his tracks. Cécile sucked in her breath. The _Américain _was so small, he wouldn't stand a chance against the slave catcher.

"_Pas de problème_," the slave catcher said roughly. "_Pas de problème pour _vous_, Américain_." _No problem for _you, _American. _

"_Un problème pour le garçon,_" the _Américain _nodded to the boy, whose eyes had gone wide, _"c'est un problème pour moi._" _Any problem for the boy is a problem for me._

The slave catcher scowled as his eyes swiveled from the _Américain_, standing there calmly, to the boy, who was now starting to sweat. Should Cécile do something? The slave catcher spat at the _Américain_, who wiped the spittle off his face with his coat sleeve, and stalked off.

"_Merci, monsieur_," the boy thanked the _Américain _profusely.

"_De rien_. It's nothing," the _Américain _waved that away. "_Soyez prudent_. Be careful."

"_Bien sûr. Merci! _Of course. Thank you!" the boy said again as he hurried away.

Cécile closed her mouth, realizing it was open. _Un Américain _who could speak French—and who had defended a freed slave. Maybe not all _Américains _were bad, after all.

"_Pardon moi, monsieur,_" Cécile called to him. "Excuse me, sir." He paused. "_J'ai tout vu, and je suis impressionnée. Vous êtes très gentil et très courageux, pas seulement pour un Américain, mais pour toute personne_." _I saw what happened, and I'm impressed. You're kind and brave, not just for an American, but for anyone._

He flushed. "_Vous êtes vraiment courageuse. Je vous ai vu au quai et ici, et vous avez plus d'esprit que moi._" _You're the one who's truly brave. I saw you at the wharf and here, and you have more spirit than I do._

Cécile's turn to blush. "_C'est pas vrai, mais peut être un jour_." _It's not true, but maybe one day it will be. _She slowly held out her hand, and he took it, their eyes meeting. "_Comment vous appellez-vous_?" she asked. "What's your name?"

"_Je m'appelle Stephen Foster_."

Cécile dropped her hand in surprise. She'd been talking to the songwriter who wrote "Old Folks at Home" and "Oh! Susanna"! "I love your songs," she said, forgetting to speak French. "The stevedores sing them here sometimes when they're working."

His eyes were bright. "I learned a lot about music from the stevedores when I was younger."

That made sense. His songs had a lot of the same rhythm and voice as the stevedores did. "I like to listen to them at the wharf, too," Cécile said. "My _grand-père _says he used to sing like that when he worked on the boats, and Mademoiselle Océane—she's my voice teacher—says they sing in perfect harmony without being taught." She was babbling. Why couldn't she learn to keep her mouth shut?

But he nodded with interest. "Sometimes the truest music doesn't come from years of instruction."

There was more she wished should show him—if only he could meet Mademoiselle Océane, how thrilled she would be!—but the lady from the boat hurried towards them, her face worried. "_There _you are, Steve," she said. "We looked everywhere for you."

"I only needed some air," he told her. "There's no need to worry, Jennie."

She flushed, and Cécile smiled. Maybe they weren't as unhappy as they'd looked.

"My wife," he said ruefully to Cécile. "Jane."

"Pleased to meet you," Cécile said, holding out her hand slowly, and Mrs. Foster looked a little surprised, but she took it. "I'm Cécile."

"It's nice to meet you, Cécile." Her voice was very pleasant. "My husband hasn't been too much trouble, I hope?" she added anxiously.

"Not at all," Cécile laughed. Should she mention the slave catcher? She decided not to. That would only make Mrs. Foster worry more. "We were having a nice conversation about music."

"Oh." Mrs. Foster smiled, her face unpinching a little. "Of course."

"I told him how much I liked his music," Cécile went on, more boldly, "and, if you're going to be in the city a few days, perhaps you'd like to meet my voice teacher, Mademoiselle Océane. She's an opera singer."

Mrs. Foster glanced at her husband, whose eyes shone. "Certainly," she said. "We'd love to."

"I'll let her know! She'll be thrilled to meet you." Mademoiselle Océane, getting to meet one of America's best songwriters. It had to be a dream. "Once I talk to her, I'll find you and let you know."

"Thank you very much," Mr. Foster told her. "I'll look forward to it." Cécile smiled, and he smiled back, his whole face lighting up.

"We'll be at the _James Millinger_," Mrs. Foster said to Cécile. "Speaking of such, we should probably go back," Mrs. Foster told her husband. "Dunning was getting anxious."

Who was Dunning? The boat captain?

"We shouldn't keep him waiting, then, I suppose," Mr. Foster said. "We need to be going," he told Cécile. "My brother's looking for me, but it was a pleasure talking to you, and I look forward to meeting your friend."

"The pleasure's all mine," Cécile said. She wouldn't have a chance like this again. "I'll see you soon! _Au bientȏt_!"

"_Au bientȏt_!" They waved as they left, arm in arm, and Cécile waved back until they were gone.

"I'll be," Ellen said as they started for home again. "It's not every day you get to meet someone famous, is it, miss?"

"No, indeed." Wait until Maman and Papa heard about her new friends.

#

"Maman! Papa!" Cécile burst through the door to their house, Ellen following her, smiling over the top of her packages.

"Cécile," Maman said as Cochon, Cécile's parrot, began squawking in the parlor. "Does a young lady burst through doors and shout like that?"

"I'm sorry, Maman," Cécile said, a little quieter. But her voice rose as she added, "You'll never believe who I met today!"

Papa set down his paper, smiling at her. "Who did you meet, Cécé?"

She couldn't contain herself. "Stephen Foster."

Maman and Papa exchanged startled glances. "Stephen Foster?" Maman asked.

"The songwriter?" Papa added.

"_Oui_!" Cécile glowed. "He was so kind. He saved a boy from getting caught by a slave catcher." She told the story from the beginning, how she saw him on the boat and how he stood up for the boy, and ended with, "I asked if they'd like to meet Mademoiselle Océane, and they said they would, so I hope she'll be just as thrilled to met them as they are to meet her. I can't wait to tell her!"

"You can tell her when you have lessons this afternoon," Maman laughed.

#

Cécile burst impatiently all through lessons, hitting the wrong notes and not paying attention until Mademoiselle Océane said, "_Mais non_, Cécile. What has you so distracted?"

She couldn't bear it anymore. "I know tonight's Mardi Gras and you're probably busy, but—there's someone I really want you to meet." She explained how she'd run into the Fosters and how much she wanted them and Mademoiselle Océane to meet.

Mademoiselle Océane's blue eyes widened. "Certainly, I have time for such an important person. I've admired his songs myself for many years. If they're not otherwise busy, we might invite them to a masquerade tonight."

"That'd be grand." Then Cécile's face fell. "The Children's Ball is tonight, and I can't go the same ball as you." There were separate balls for _gens de libres_, free people of color,like Cécile.

"It's no matter, Cécile. You can go to your ball, and we can meet after. Does that work?" Mademoiselle Océane asked gently.

Cécile nodded. It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do.

#

Cécile and Mademoiselle Océane found the _James Millinger _where Cécile had passed it last. Mr. and Mrs. Foster were sitting on the deck with some other gentlemen and ladies, including a thin, pale man with dark red hair and deep brown eyes like Mr. Foster's. Could that be his brother, Dunning? Cécile's heart panged a little. If only her brother Armand, who was studying in Paris, could be here. How he'd love to hear about this!

"_Bonjour_! Hello!" Cécile waved to them, and Mr. and Mrs. Foster stood and waved back, Mr. Foster beaming.

"Miss Cécile," he said, leaving the deck to join them at the wharf. "You've brought your friend, I see."

"Mademoiselle Océane," Cécile said proudly, introducing her teacher, who warmly shook hands with Mr. Foster and Mrs. Foster when she joined them ashore.

"I hope you've been enjoying New Orleans so far," Mademoiselle Océane said, and they nodded enthusiastically.

"It's very different from the North and Pittsburgh," Mr. Foster said. "Things are more equal here, and the people here are very warm." He smiled at Cécile, who brightened.

"I'm glad you like it," Mademoiselle Océane said. "I wish to do my small part to welcome you to our city; it's not every day we get such a talented songwriter here."

"Thank you for your kind words," he said, "though I'm sure there are many better than I."

"I've heard 'Oh! Susanna' on the wharf many times here and heard and performed some of your parlor songs myself, like that lovely 'Wilt Thou Be Gone, Love!', and I think you'll be quite welcome here." Mademoiselle Océane's eyes sparkled bright. "If you're not otherwise engaged tonight, would you be able to come to our masquerade?"

"We'd love to," Mrs. Foster said. "It's very generous of you to offer. Will Cécile come, too?"

Cécile swallowed the lump in her throat. It was hard not to be able to spend the evening with them, even though she had no choice. "No, I won't be able to. There are separate balls here for free people of color."

The Fosters looked startled. "New Orleans seemed like a more open city than that," Mr. Foster said.

"That's how it's always been," Cécile tried to explain, but she couldn't really explain. That was just how it _was_.

"Cécile would love to join you after the ball, if she could," Mademoiselle Océane said, her gentleness smoothing things over.

"Of course," Mrs. Foster said. "We'd be happy to let her come."

#

Ellen dropped Cécile off at the Children's Ball at the Grand Théâtre, but she spent the night bursting with impatience. Normally the ball would've been grand, with all its costumes and the staircase Papa had cut the marble for and worked so hard on, but tonight, it was barely anything to her new friends. She couldn't even tell anyone there who'd she'd met, not even mean Agnès, because they wouldn't believe her.

When Ellen came to pick Cécile up, she hurried to the door, and the hired carriage took them back to the wharf and the _James Millinger_, where the Fosters, their friends, and Mademoiselle Océane were listening to two of the ladies onboard sing, one contralto, one soprano:

"Believe me 'tis the Nightingale whose song hath pierced thine ear.

Wilt thou be gone, wilt thou be gone, love, wilt thou be gone from me?"

"I must be gone, love, I must be gone from thee.

'Tis not the Nightingale that sings in yonder tree."

Everyone clapped when the ladies finished, Mademoiselle Océane's face glowing. She really was enjoying herself.

"_Bonsoir_. Good evening," Cécile greeted them as Dunning Foster let her onboard. "How was the ball?" she asked.

"It was magical," Mrs. Foster said, her eyes liquid. "It was almost hard to believe how many people came up to talk to us." She smiled at her husband, who positively radiated back. "How was your ball, Miss Cécile?" she asked her.

"It was as nice as it always was," Cécile said, trying not to sound disappointed, "but not the same without you."

"We were just singing some songs, if you'd like to join in," Mr. Foster offered.

"I think Mademoiselle Océane should sing first," Cécile said, grinning slyly at her teacher.

"Dear," Mademoiselle Océane said. "I didn't come prepared for this."

But everyone on the boat cheered her on, and she began to sing, her soprano high and clear,

"Ah! may the red rose live alway,

To smile on earth and sky,

Why should the beautiful ever weep?

Why should the beautiful die?"

The cheers were louder when she finished, her face flushing, and Mr. Foster even looked as though he might've been about to cry.

"I've heard that song many times," he told her, "but few times as beautifully as that."

"She's might've given our Siss here a run for her money," joked another gentleman onboard, the lady who'd sung the soprano in the duet smiling good-naturedly.

"They both sing very well," Mr. Foster said, trying to be fair.

The gentleman just laughed. "Oh, Steve, you're too nice."

"Perhaps you'd like to sing something for us, too?" the soprano asked Cécile.

"I couldn't—" She hadn't practiced at all, and her lessons hadn't gone well today. But the other waiting faces, especially Mr. Foster's, changed her mind. "Very well. I'll sing, but Mademoiselle Océane might not like my song choice," she added boldly, with another cheeky grin at her teacher, who just nodded her on.

Cécile began singing, the others on the boat clapping along with her,

"Oh! Susanna,

Oh, don't you cry for me,

I've come from Alabama

With my banjo on my knee."

#

Too soon, it was time for their new friends to go, and Mademoiselle Océane and Cécile went to the wharf to see the _James Millinger _off.

"I wish you could stay longer," Mademoiselle Océane said, "but, if it's not to be, you're welcome to return to New Orleans anytime you like."

"Please do," Cécile said, her hands together. They'd just met, and already it was time for them to go. It didn't seem fair.

Mr. and Mrs. Foster exchanged glances on the deck. "Perhaps someday we will," Mrs. Foster said.

"If Dunning brings the boat south again," Mr. Foster added.

Cécile cheered.

As the smoke began to billow from the boat and the wheel began to turn, Cécile called, "_Au revoir_! Goodbye! I'll never forget you!" Even if they never met again, she'd always treasure the time they did have.

"_Au revoir_!" they called back.

"_J'oublierai jamais mon amie courageuse_," Mr. Foster added, and Cécile almost cried. _I'll never forget my brave friend._

She waved, and they waved back until the boat was out of sight.

She and Mademoiselle Océane walked back along the harbor. "I suspect we'll never have an experience like that again," Mademoiselle Océane said. "That was truly once-in-a-lifetime."

"_Oui_, it was." Cécile beamed as she skipped along the sidewalk. Wait until she told Armand!

#

Dear Armand,

You might be having the time of your life in Paris, but you'll never believe who I've been able to meet here.

_Stephen Foster _was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and Mademoiselle Océane and I got to meet him! He and Mrs. Foster went with Mademoiselle Océane to a masquerade, and I got to sing with them afterwards. He said I did one of the most spirited "Oh! Susanna"s he'd ever heard. I wish you'd been here to see them, instead of being in boring Paris with your artist friends. Do write soon. Your loving sister,

Cécé

#

Dear Cécé,

I'll admit you have me a little green with envy. It sounds as though you and Mademoiselle Océane had a great time, and I can't wait until I can come home next year to hear more about it. Until then, I'll have to content myself with Paris, ever less exciting than home and my sister. Your loving brother,

Armand

#

**A/N: **The young Pittsburgh-born composer Stephen Foster really did visit New Orleans for Carnival in 1852 at the age of 25 aboard his brother Dunning's boat the _James Millinger_ with his wife Jane and some family friends (and he really was proficient in French—and German). He was known during his lifetime as the writer of such popular songs as "Old Folks at Home" and "Oh! Susanna," which were sung all over the world, in theaters in the North and by slaves in the South, which could be how Cécile heard his songs. An opera singer like Mademoiselle Océane may have been more familiar with his parlor songs, like "Wilt Thou Be Gone, Love!" and "Ah! May the Red Rose Live Alway," but a song like "Oh! Susanna," written when Stephen was 21, would have appealed more to someone young, like Cécile. He also wrote songs like "Angelina Baker" and "Way Down in CA-I-RO" against the Fugitive Slave Act, which was part of the Compromise of 1850 and said that any Northerner must help slave catchers find and return runaway or freed slaves and return them to plantations in the South. Many Northerners, like Stephen, and free blacks, like Cécile, protested the law, and it was ruled unconstitutional in 1855.


End file.
